


Model Ships

by Seagoatink



Series: Survival Isn't Pretty [14]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Fluff, Post-Mass Effect 3, Post-Reaper War, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 18:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8220751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seagoatink/pseuds/Seagoatink
Summary: Despite being decked out in her pajamas comprising of hot pink pants with purple and white polka dots, her N7 jacket, and what Solana believed was called  a  babydoll shirt, Shepard walked right out her front door. The only addition made to complete her afternoon look was a pair of slippers made to look like varren.It was either embarrassment or jealousy that Solana felt for Shepard’s complete lack of Shits Given.





	

The longer Shepard was home alone, the emptier her apartment felt. The emptier it felt, the larger it felt. The larger the space became, the colder. It was lonely, being alone. At the same time, it was terrifying, and secure in that feeling. The silence bore holes into her imagination, gripping at every minor noise that was either real or not.

Sure, aboard the Normandy the vacuum of space threatened her from above her bed. But the Normandy had fish to keep her company in a giant tank beside her bed. A tank that Commander Shepard had totally never worried would break. And if it were ever to break, she most certainly never worried about the waters drowning her in her sleep.

So she kept up with her model ship collection. Each ship she built herself. That was the point of model ships, the craftsmanship. For Shepard, the ships were not bragging rights upon completion, but a welcome distraction from the emptiness of her room or the severity of her mission. Even ones like a reaper proved to be worth her time in the long run.

Initially, the collection started when she was first named Anderson’s XO aboard the Normandy, before Saren, reapers, and all that not-so-smooth jazz that had filled the past several years. It started with the Tokyo, or rather, the model Tokyo. It was not her first project because it was Anderson’s last ship, but because it was the first ship she could find for sale at a decent price. And it called to her, like a model buggy from humanity’s early motoring days.

But the commander could only cross her eyes for so long staring at miniature model parts that toothpicks aided her in putting together. The apartment wasn’t looking any smaller either. Vids had proved themselves not distracting enough long ago. But Garrus, Garrus was on the Citadel too. At least for now he was.

So Shepard resulted in sending him a message. “So, I… Uh, I cleaned my whole apartment, even Joey’s bathroom, which was gross. And I watched the Floatilla vid a time or two, I know the name I just can’t remember anything except ‘Floatilla’ right now. And I’ve already gone cross-eyed working on my model ships,” she continued her message with an extensive list of everything she had worn herself out doing. “But all I can hear is the sound of reapers ready to fire. I know you’re at work, but uh… If you have the chance… Like all I need is maybe five minutes! I really don’t want to bother you! I -I just. I… Being alone is a bitch and a half, you know?”

None of her wanted to sound so needy, but her voice cracked and squeaked. As much as Shepard wanted to remake the message, making it once took enough energy out of her. And it reminded her how empty the apartment really was.

After taking another look around the apartment, she decided she should probably put away her model ship. The one she was working on was… Not a ship. It was the Mako. The next model on her list was the Hammerhead, for Cortez.

Before she knew it she was fidgeting with the pieces between her hands.

That was enough. Shepard decided silently, knowing her voice in the quiet apartment would only hurt her own ears, no matter how deaf the gunfire had made her over the years.

Instead of trying to piece together the model, she began putting it back in its box. Her mind wandered Tali, Cortez, other crew members over the years.

The idea struck her. “Call Grunt,” she instructed, and her omni-tool obliged.

Shepard packed away her toothpicks, glue, and acetone in a container. The tweezers were already safely at home in the small box filled with parts of the Mako that were still waiting to be torn away from their frame.

“Dammit, how many times do I need to hit the “Call Accept” button? I’d rather work with pyjaks than this outdated mech.”

“Hi to you too, Grunt,” Shepard laughed as he swore at his omni-tool.

She smiled as he laughed on the other end, mixing in more insults at his omni-tool. “Hi to you too, Shepard,” he said. It sounded like he wasn’t alone. “Not that I mind, but what’s got you calling me?”

“Oh, you know, the usual,” the woman replied with a chuckle. If she was right and she had heard Wrex in the background static, then Grunt would continue with their running gag. The old krogan would always shake his head and act perplexed when Shepard called him “Dad” and called herself Mom to Grunt.

Grunt laughed the way he always had, and Shepard was sure he had a shit eating grin on his face, maybe he even stole a side-eyed glance back at Wrex while doing so. “Dad’s doing fine, probably hates that you’re asking though. Don’t ya?”

Shepard grinned to herself. There was a familiar blunt crashing sound. Every krogan made that sound. Armor hitting armor, or the sound of head-butting, the commander wasn’t sure which at this point. But it did not matter. She stole a moment to stare at her wall full of mounted space ships, and shelf space for ground units. “This probably sounds weird, but do you know of any model tomkahs?”

“For your collection?”

“To pass the time,” Shepard explained, “I’ve probably built seventeen Normandy SR2s by now, and after the last one I’m sure I could make the next in my sleep.”

There was grumbling in the background, low and guttural. Either it was Wrex talking to him, or another krogan trying to argue with him. Either way, Shepard could not understand what was being said.

However, she could hear the sound of the apartment door opening. So she stood, leaving her half-packed model Mako behind to check on whoever was visiting her. For an engineer, she was not very tech savvy, and for the life of her Shepard could not figure out how to transition her call to her headset rather than the overhead speaker.

“Heh heh, I’ll have to get back to you on that one, Mom,” Grunt said, openly embracing the running joke he shared with Shepard. “I have to let you go, I’m about to go into the tunnels.”

Even though Grunt could not see her do it, Shepard nodded. “I’ll talk to you later, Grunt.” She hung up the call as she turned the corner in the living room to see Solana in the entry way.

“I know I shouldn’t ask, but “Mom”?” Solana asked.

Shepard laughed and nodded. “Yeah, human thing, I guess,” she explained.

The turian woman nodded. “Right,” she paused, looking around the apartment from threshold of living room. “Uhm, Garrus, he said you called him,” her voice was awkwardly trying to address the situation.

Shepard realized Solana was scoping the apartment for signs of her distress. Rather than finding a mess of smashed bottles, like she would if it was Joey acting up, the woman found the place to be spotless. “I,” Cheska started, but stopped before she could attempt to explain.

“He was worried, but he’s tied up with… Red tape,” Solana continued, realizing the human could simply be too shocked to talk.

“I, I‘m really sorry, I should have thought that -I just -I,” Cheska was gulping air and her chest was heaving. Her hand shot to her forehead.

The other woman held Shepard’s wrist gently to try and stabilize her. “Hey, it’s alright. I have the day off.”

“God, I’m dizzy.”

Solana hooked an arm around Shepard, which was only difficult because of their height difference, and escorted her to the bar at the kitchen. “So are those human pajamas you’re wearing?” Asked the turian officer, trying to loosen the tension.

“I-” Cheska paused to look down at her shirt and pants. “Yeah, outside of the N7 sweatshirt, yeah… Yeah. I guess you’re probably used to seeing asari formal robes instead of human civies?”

“I’ve seen human civilian clothes, just not pajamas. Never had to do a midnight raid, unless you count clubs,” she replied, passing the commander a glass of water as she sat down beside her.

“Never been to a club slumber party?” Shepard joked. She chugged the water Solana handed her and hastily went to the sink for a refill. “I mean,” she gulped down her second glass. Then she started to fill up the ceramic mug a third time. “I’ve never been to a club slumber party either.” The commander was starting to calm down.

Solana was too busy waiting for a punch line to laugh.

“They’re probably only a thing I just made up, but I like to let myself believe I’m funny,” Shepard said sarcastically. “Um, let me show you around. I know I only gave you my address. I don’t think you’ve seen the place though.”

Shepard was about to lead the way through her apartment and give the turian a full tour, but she was stopped. “Shepard, I’m not going to pretend to know a lot about humans, but I think we should head out for a walk instead,” the other woman soundly suggested.

The commander broke contact from Solana, pulling her hands close to her chest. She was folded her hands over each other. Then Shepard nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation from the commander.

Despite being decked out in her pajamas comprising of hot pink pants with purple and white polka dots, her N7 jacket, and what Solana believed was called a babydoll shirt, Shepard walked right out her front door. The only addition made to complete her afternoon look was a pair of slippers made to look like varren.

It was either embarrassment or jealousy that Solana felt for Shepard’s complete lack of Shits Given.

The Presidium Commons were filled with flora and markets again. It had only been a year since the Reaper War, but the Citadel seemed to always come back to its full potential. At least market-wise, it recovered quickly. Other districts were still left in ruins. But industry and business were always the best ways to quickly recover, both economically and otherwise. 

There were a few quarian oriented kiosks, most were run by geth. Some were overseen by a quarian or two. Shepard ordered expensive brandy. “For Tali,” she explained, even though Solana had not asked.

The two passed a few other kiosks, where Shepard searched for model ship listings. Most kiosks didn’t sell model ships or cars, or anything related to models. When they did come across one, Shepard stayed for five minutes, staring at the screen. “Should I get one Hammerhead and another liveship model or should I get three Hammerheads on discount with a Mako?” She muttered.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Solana asked, now alarmed by Shepard’s impulse buy.

“Oh, I collect model ships. I was going to give them to some crew mates when I return to active duty,” Shepard explained.

The turian nodded. She was filled with uncertainty. “You’re being promoted to Captain, aren’t you?” Solana asked. 

“That’s the word on the street,” Shepard said with full gun-finger action, finally finishing her purchase. She ultimately decided on buying three Hammerheads and a Mako. 

Again, Solana found herself perplexed. Spirits, Garrus found himself a strange one. At least she was relentless and hadn’t gotten him killed. The same couldn’t be said for Shepard considering the woman had died and almost died more times than turians had fingers.

“I figure you’re getting hungry, but I don’t know any dextro-friendly places that are good,” Shepard said, hoping Solana would get the hint and lead the way.

“You mean Garrus never brought you to any of them?” Solana asked. She could have sworn he had gone on dates with the woman before. When Cheska shook her head, the turian sighed. “There weren’t many before, but with more quarians moving in…”

She made fast strides toward the cabs before glancing back to Shepard who was quickly trotting behind her. Cheska was doing her best to keep up, but offered an energetic smile. “If you want to eat somewhere more expensive that’s fine, I’ll pay for it!” She added, hoping to reassure Solana.

As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Solana had been banking on that statement. It was a food court environment. Casual, so Shepard’s hot pink pants would not cause a problem, but Solana had been craving some prime steak. Once they both had food they wanted, the two sat down in the courtyard.

At the table beside them sat a salarian and a turian arguing about tech. Specifically their drones. Solana hadn’t heard what they were saying, but Shepard had. And she knew exactly how each of them were wrong. “What you should do is throw out your drone first,” the commander said.

Solana immediately knew she was going to be lost in the engineers battle tactics.

Outside of her steak and their walk around the presidium, Solana realized this was the best thing to happen all day. Watching Commander Shepard school some arguing techies on battle tactics was one thing. Watching a woman in the most unprofessional clothing imaginable, with messy hair, burger juices dribbled on her shirt and the posture of a juvenile delinquent take down two other know-it-alls was priceless.

And when they turned away with nothing else to say in return, wearing looks of embarrassment was the cherry on top of it all.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be real, this is a hell of a lot longer than I meant it to be. But man oh man, I enjoyed making this so much. I really wanted to write something to come out of the realness vibe I was putting into my last few fics and I think I accomplished that with this.


End file.
